Title: AtLA: Turtle Duck Kisses
Universe: Avatar the Last Airbender
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Author's Note: Azula has a rare quiet and introspective moment. This is for the Flash Fan Fiction Friday's theme "impulsive." Word count: 429
Deep crimson light from the setting sun filtered through the pagoda tree, its leaves spattering bits of shade across the garden below. The rare flashes that reached the pond glimmered across its surface. A warm breeze rippled the water, birthing gentle waves that sang against the grassy pond lip. Five tiny turtle ducklings, followed closely by their mother, played in the tiny swells.
A slender figure approached. With a startled squawk, the mother turtle duck hustled her offspring away.
Azula smirked. Good. Those useless vermin had learned to respect, to fear, her. It was only proper. She was Azula, daughter of Firelord Ozai. Everyone - no, everything - would learn its place around her, or suffer the consequences. Not that these pathetic creatures were truly worth her notice. Why did Father still keep them, anyway?
Glancing aside, her smirk slipped into a scowl. There, wrapped in a thin cloth, was the leftover bread the servants left out for these useless, noisy things. Always, the servants left something out in case someone wished to squander their precious time on those petty creatures. She unwrapped the offering and clenched it. When Azula was Firelord, she'd put an end to such a pointless waste.
Mother was holding her, warm arms close. Zuzu stood nearby, pointing and smiling. Mother held the dry bread and crumbled it. Pouring the pieces into Azula's tiny palm, she guided her daughter's hand to the turtle duckling. The small creature nibbled the treat, tickling the child's palm. Young Azula giggled.
"See, dear? Turtle duck kisses."
Azula clenched her fist, the stale bread crumbling between her fingers. Mother was gone. Zuko was gone. They were both weak. Sentimental. A person had to be strong to survive, to thrive. They weren't, and they were gone. Banished. She was strong. Feared. The perfect example of Fire Nation royalty.
Distressed quacking interrupted her thoughts. She glared at the noisy mother turtle duck, and her four hatchlings. A tiny squawk sounded by her feet. The fifth hatchling stumbled onto land, waddling toward the crumbs that had fallen from her fist.
Azula narrowed her eyes. This one hadn't learned its place yet. It would. Forming a rigid blade with her index and middle fingers, she drew them back. Blue fire erupted from their tips. She eyed her tiny target, judging how much force to use, her range, and splash back. It gobbled up the crumbs, oblivious. Her arm wavered.
She bent down, opening up her hand. The hatchling scurried forward, tickling her palm as it ate the treat.
"See, dear? Turtle duck kisses."